The Avenue For Peculiar Children
by Broadway Evanescence
Summary: A mysterious island. An abandoned orphanage. A horrific family tragedy takes Princeton to a remote island off the coast of Wales for answers. The children he had heard of were not just odd. They were miraculous. They were dangerous. They might have been quarantined for a reason. They might still be alive. (X-over between Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children & Avenue Q)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: i'm going to try to not put too many author's notes in this one. This is a crossover between Avenue Q and Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children. Please ENJOY AND REVIEW!**

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_"Sleep is not; death is not; Who seem to die live. House you were born in, Friends of your spring-time, Old man and young maid, Day's toil and its guerdon, Fleeing to fables, Cannot be moored." - __Ralph Waldo Emerson_

**PROLOGUE**

It took me quite a while to realize that my life would be extremely ordinary, and not just dull I mean... _extremely _ordinary. Bland and dull. I needed to split my life into two separate parts: _Before and After. _Then, I needed to contemplate what the difference was between ordinary and extraordinary. The only difference I could find was that there was an 'extra' in front of the word ordinary. But like many of the ordinary things, they involved my grandfather. Growing up, my grandfather was the most fascinating man I had ever known. He had fought wars, crossed oceans, battled monsters and so much more. It was strange to think of these things now but as a young child, all I could think about was when I would be able to battle these beasts of blackness. Now I can laugh at it all.

When I was exactly six years old, we would find the oldest treasure maps that he probably found on google maps and pretend like we were searching for treasure. I know it sounds silly but when you're six years old, being a pirate got pretty intense and it was a dream job, especially mine. Back then, battling invisible sea creatures was just plain awesome. It was exhilerating to be able to search for something with someone who really cared about me and protected me. It helped me feel powerful. My grandpa spoke three languages and everything he did seemed unfathomable and exotic to a kid who had never left New York City. I felt incredibly cheated when I realized that his stories couldn't possibly be true.

"Grandpa?"

"Yes Princeton?"

"What _kind _monsters?" It had become a routine now. I'd ask him random questions about who-knows-what and then he would answer back with explicit detail that I just had to believe him.

"Awful hunched over ones with rotting skin and white eyes! And they walked like this!" He would then shamble after me making a funny gurgling noise that would have me running away in laughter. He would add a new detail every time. "They smelled like putrefying trash, squirming tentacles would flop out of their mouths to catch you in the night, and they were invisible except for their shadows." It wasn't long before I had trouble falling asleep at night. My hyperactive imagination transformed footsteps behind me or tires on the pavement to the same monster following me, breathing down my neck, ready to break it in two. Even though the thought of them made my skin tingle, I still enjoyed imagining my grandfather fighting them and living to tell the tale. What was more interesting to me, was the fact that he created an entire story about these mystical children that he lived with when he was also a child. It was an enchanted place designed to keep the kids safe from monsters. The sun shined every day and no one ever got sick or died. Everyone lived in a gigantic house that was protected by a wise old bird... or so I was told.

As I got older though, I began to have my doubts.

"What _kind _of bird Grandpa?" I asked while we were playing monopoly.

"A wise old hawk that smoked a pipe." he answered.

"You must think I'm pretty dumb Grandpa." He frowned as he thumbed through a stack of multicolored money.

"Princeton, I'm surprised at you. Why would I think that about you?" I had upset him and that was not my intention. Feeling guilty, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"But... why would the monsters want to hurt you?" I asked wide-eyed.

"Because, we were not like other children. We were peculiar."

"Peculiar how?" He put the money down as if he could not concentrate on telling the story and playing the game.

"Oh all sorts of ways. There was a girl who could control flowers of all kinds, a boy that could become invisible, another boy who could lift boulders..." reading the doubt on my face, stood up from the ground. "Fine, don't take my word for it, but I've got pictures!" He went into the house leaving me on the screened-in lanai. He came back with a dusty cigarette box. I leaned in to look as he took out four yellowing snapshots. The first one was kind of blurry, with a nice tailored suit hanging in mid-air. Either that or the person didn't have a head.

"Of course he has a head! Only you can't see it."

"Why not? Is he invisible?" He raised his eye brows as if I had surprised him with my power of deduction.

"His name was Rodney but we all called him Rod. He was the smartest kid I had ever met. He's come up to me and say: Hey, I know what you did today. He then told me what I ate, where I been, what I did. He could even turn things invisible if he wanted to. Of all the things, eh?" He then slipped me another photo. Once I had a moment to look at it, I saw nothing 'peculiar'.

"A little girl?"

"And?"

"I don't know. She's... pretty." I said. He tapped the bottom of the photo. I held the snapshot closer. Her feet were not touching the ground. She was not jumping though... she was levitating.

"She's flying!"

"Close", my grandfather said, "She's levitating, only she couldn't control it. Sometimes we had to tie a rope around her waist to keep her from floating away." My eyes were glued to her haunting doll like face.

"Is it real?"

"Of course it is." He said gruffly. He took the picture from my fingers and replaced it with another. It was a snapshot of a boy lifting a boulder with one hand.

"His name is Nicholas but we called him Nicky for short. He wasn't too smart, but boy was he strong!"

"He doesn't_ look _strong." I said studying the boy's basic body.

"Trust me, he was. I arm wrestled him once and he almost tore my arm off!" The last one was the most disturbing photo out of the four. It was the back of somebody's head, with a face painted on it. I stared at the photo as my grandfather explained it to me.

"He had two mouths see? One in the front and one in the back. That's why he's so big and fat!"

"But it's fake." I said. "The face is just painted on."

"Yes, of course the _paint _ is fake. It was for a circus show but he did have two mouths. You don't believe me?" I looked at the photo and then back at my grandfather.

"I believe you." I said. And I did believe him... for a few years, but that was only because I forced myself too. Like how most kids believe in Santa Claus. We cling to fairy tales until the price for believing them becomes too high, which happened to me in second grade when this kid laughed at me and pantsed me in front of a bunch of girls when I tried to talk about the stories. They all called me "fairy boy" for years and even though I shouldn't have, I resented my grandfather for it.

Grandpa picked me up from school in his old Pontiac and I climbed in the passenger seat with tears streaming down my face.

"Princeton... what's wrong?"

"I don't believe your fairy stories anymore." I declared with my arms crossed against my chest.

"What fairy stories?" he said peering over his glasses to stare at me.

"You know, the stories about the monsters and the kids."

"Who said anything about fairies?" I told him that a make-believe story and a fairy tale were the same thing and that they were for babies, and that I knew those photos and his stories were fake. I expected him to get angry at me and argue with me, but instead he just said "Okay," and threw the Pontiac into drive. With a stab of his foot on the accelerator we left the curb and that was the end of it all. I knew this time would come, when we would just give up on each other and it hurt for a while. It took me quite some time to realize something very important. I talked to my dad about some of the stories and he just massaged his temple in frustration. And then he told me.

His stories weren't fairy tales. They were horror stories.

He was the only person in his family to had made it alive in World War II. His parents handed him over to strangers with nothing but a suitcase and the clothes on his back. It was the only ticket to freedom. He never saw his family again and they were probably dead before his sixteenth birthday. He had narrowly escaped the "monsters" he always talked about but they were not monsters with rotting skin and tentacles in their mouths. They were monsters with human faces and crisp uniforms. Like the monsters, the story was a truth in disguise. Of course he described the home with the children like it was a paradise filled with magic because when he was my age, it was just that. A sanctuary. The peculiarity from which they had been claimed was simply their diversity. They were orphans of war, washed into a tide of fresh blood that leaked from their pores. What made them amazing was not their unrealistic miraculous powers. Them escaping gas chambers and ghettos was miracle enough.

I stopped asking my grandfather to tell me his infamous stories. Secretly, I'm sure he was relieved. I did not want to pry when it came to the dark fog of mystery that clouded his past. He had been through enough danger and he had a right to his secrets. I felt ashamed for the way I had treated him and I was happy to have the unextraordinary life that I hated to begin with.

Then, a few years later when I was fifteen, an extraordinary and terrible thing happened. Then... there was only _Before and After._


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER ONE**

I spent the last afternoon of Before constructing a 1/10,000 scale replica of the Empire State building out of boxes of adult diapers. One by one I took each box and placed it upon the other with deep concentration. I worked in a mini mart like any other, the only difference was that my family owned this one. Well, they owned most of them in the nation.

I took a step back, admiring my amazing work. I swung my foot back and kicked the bottom box. The entire tower toppled over and caused an enormous amount of ruckus. I couldn't hold back my laughter. It was a bittersweet moment in my time at work. Words could not describe how much I truly hated my job. It was not that I was forced to work here, it was just that it was expected of me. I tried everything in my power to get fired. I put jars of vaseline with the chips and candies. I mopped floors and never put up a wet floor sign. I gave customers change that was terribly incorrect. But who would fire the owner's son?

"Was that necessary?" The store clerk asked me while glaring angrily in my direction. I nodded with confidence. Yes, it sure was necessary. Every time a customer came into the store, a gush of August heat would be blown in. I wiped the perspiration from my forehead. "Get back to work Princeton. And clean up these boxes!" I gave him a fake solute and pouted.

"Yes sir Mr. Manager sir!" he rolled his eyes and went back to doing whatever he was doing. Counting change or something like that. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I took it out. It was a text from my best friend Ricky or... my only friend. I unlocked my cracked screen and went to the message.

_Hey dude. U stil need a ride hom?_

I smiled at the poorly typed text.

_I don't think so. My pops will take me._

A few minutes later, I got another text.

_Kk. _

I placed my phone back into my pocket and sighed. This was going to be a long and uneventful day.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

I started to put away the bandages and alcohol in the spirits and wine section when a voice alarmed me on the PA system. "Princeton, you have a call on line 2." I slowly walked to the back office that was in the mini mart and opened the door. Ms. Grace, the store manager smiled at me. She sat at her desk, folding and stapling sheets of paper. "How are you Princeton?" I put my hands into my pockets.

"I'm alright I guess." I said while shrugging my shoulders. Ms. Grace pointed to the telephone.

"I think it's your grandpa. He sounds _freaked._" I rolled my eyes. My grandfather has been going through episodes recently. He refuses to take his medication now and he throws random fits. His stories were staring to rip him apart from the inside out and it was destroying him. Internally and externally. I was forced to hide the keys from him to the house because he would tear everything apart when no one was around. I walked to the phone and pressed it to my ear.

"Grandpa...? Grandpa what's going on?"

"Princeton?! Is that you?!"

"Yes. It's me."

"Oh! Where's my key?!"

"What key Grandpa?" I knew what key he was talking about. I just could not let my parents pay tons of money to get the house redone again.

"You know what key! Where is it?!"

"Have you taken your meds today Grandpa?"

"Answer me first! Where is my goddamn key?!"

"I don't know where it is." He started screaming incoherent curses and I could hear him banging on the door.

"They're going to get me and I need my gun. Where is the key?!" I massaged my forehead.

"It's underneath the rug. Grandpa could you just give me like five minutes? I'll be there soon." The line went dead. I looked to Ms. Grace who gave me a sad smile.

"I expect you to be here earlier than your usual call time." I laughed at her permission to leave.

"I'll be here at 7:00." I pulled out my phone and texted Ricky.

_You still able to give me that ride?_ A response immediately came back.

_Yeah. Need one now?_

OoOoOoOoOoO

The sun had started to set and it was getting dark. I walked out into the parking lot. I saw Ricky leaning on his old convertible.

"How was work?"

"Don't wanna talk about it." He laughed and put his hands up in surrender.

"My bad. Where are we off to?"

"My house. My grandpa is freaking out and I need to get to him before he does something crazy." I opened the car door and threw myself into the passenger seat. We drove out of the parking lot and down the street. He turned a corner and drove past the col-de-sac. I stared out of the window, observing some of the neighbors I never noticed. One of my neighbors had white eyes. I cringed.

_I never knew that one of our neighbors was blind._

We finally made it to my house and Ricky parked out in front. The door was wide open. I got out of the car and checked my phone for no apparent reason. I got kind of nervous. Ricky stood by the door.

"What's wrong Prince?" My brow furrowed.

"I don't know." I walked into the house. Ricky followed me at a far distance. The living room was a complete and total mess. The dresser that held the television had been knocked over. The glass table on the rug had shattered into pieces. My Grandpa's photos were thrown about. The couch cushions were far from the couch and the sofa was ripped in certain places.

"What happened?" Ricky asked. I didn't answer as I traveled further into the house. It was like a tornado had been through each room on the lower level. The screen door in the back of the house had a gaping hole in its surface. I ran to it. I put my foot over the hole and ducked through. "Prince wait up!"

Trees clouded my vision and it was extremely dark. I could barely see a thing. I pushed branches and leaves out of my way. I pulled out my phone and used it as a flash light. I held it out in front of my path. It was better than the dark. The ground appeared a little red beneath my feet but I had no time to contemplate the color of the dirt. I then tripped on something and fell to my face. I looked up and realized something. What I fell in was thick and warm. It was blood.

I quickly got to my feet and trudged deeper into the forest until I came to the edge of what seemed like a small lake. There was my grandpa.

Lifeless in the dirt.

Holding a gun.

Blood was everywhere. It was splattered across his chest and his shirt was torn. His face was pale and his eyes were glossed over. My heart stopped. I could barely comprehend what was going on. I ran to my grandfathers side. I put my palm against his face. I didn't notice the tears my eyes had started to leak.

"Grandpa... Grandpa what happened?!" He started to wheeze and his eyes lids started to flutter. He started to mumble something. He was barely audible. "Grandpa I can't hear you..." I pressed my ear closer to him.

"Go to the island. You'll be safe there." It was the old paranoia. I grabbed his hand and squeezed with a fake smile plastered to my red face.

"It's gonna be okay. We need to get you some help." Ricky came from behind me with a gun.

"Oh God... Dude. What happened?" he whispered.

"Go to the island. You'll be safe there. I should have told you sooner." Life was being drained from his body and I started to cough up tears and sobs.

"Told me what?" I asked. Trembling with effort, he raised his head.

"Find the bird, in the loop. On the other side of the old man's grave. September third, 1940." He sunk back into the dirt. "Emerson... the letter. Tell them what happened." I nodded as if I understood what he was saying. And just like that... he was gone.

"Oh Jesus... oh _Jesus._" Ricky muttered.

I held out my phone to look for someone or something. I started to shake hard. My phone fell out of my hand. I then heard leaves shaking from in front of me. It sounded like the water was being moved by something. I picked up my phone slowly. I aimed the light ahead of me. I had no idea what I was looking for exactly until I saw it. A monster.

It was the very beast that my grandpa described in his stories. An ugly human like figure with slimy tentacles climbing out of its mouth. The same monster was transported from my Grandfather to right in front of me. It stared at me with black eyes and fleshy skin that was clinging onto its body. A scream was torn from my throat. I heard the pistol go off multiple times.

"What the hell was that?!" Ricky shouted. He didn't see it and I couldn't explain what it looked like. I must have blacked out because all I can remember is him calling my name.


End file.
